milliways_bar | Jun. 10th, 2012

Jun. 10th, 2012

I was just sitting in my office eating some ol' pepperoni pizza when I heard a loud crash in the back of my office.

"Did I miss one?" I though to myself.

"I must really be loosing my touch" I said aloud as I grabbed my coat and Rebellion and headed towards my back room.

Pulling out Ebony and Ivory, I kick the door in expecting a demon or two destroying more of my stuff - those dirty creeps.

But, when the pieces of the door fell, I wasn't in my office anymore, but, what appeared to be, a bar.

(OOC: this thread will be in slowtime after 2PM EST)

common_sellsword

[OOM: Prolonged periods of peace don't make for happy sellswords.]

The door opens and a lean man in dusty black clothes enters, throwing his slightly tatty short cloak back over his shoulder. There's a sword sheathed at his side, and the cautious look in his eyes and the way he moves are flags that any seasoned warrior would recognize. This man is checking his surroundings for immediate threat. This man has either some serious training or a good amount of combat experience, or both. This man is dangerous...

This man is utterly puzzled. He recovers quickly, but the flash of surprise is definitely there to be seen.

It's an inn, all right, but not the Crossroads Inn, not by far. Everything is too clean, too polished, it's too large and the patrons... The patrons are weird enough that for the first time in only the Seven know how long Bronn pinches the inside of his wrist, hiding the gesture by adjusting the cuff of his ring-mail shirt.

If it's a dream, the pinching didn't dispel it. But it can't be real either, can it?

[OOC: Have a quite confused sellsword, Milliways! I'll be slow with work today, but the EP is open for as long as people want to tag in.]

[TinyTag: Bronn]

singsometimes

So, life has finally started to resemble something that might be referred to as 'normal'. At least ... it's something normal-like, according to Miss Jessica Day. Mizz Day. Jess. The Jess-ster.

It can be noted that Jess is pretty much used to things never really going the way they should, or the way she wishes they could in her head.

(Like the whole thing with her ex, Spencer; and her spontaneously moving in with a bunch of guys - who are honestly the best, so really, no regrets there - because she couldn't stand living with a bunch of models anymore.)

But people are often singing out their feelings in these situations in her head. Sometimes, there's even a random dance number. So maybe it's best that they don't really go the way they do in her head.

In any case, she's standing in the doorway with a slightly rumpled, but still brightly coloured solar system diorama in her arms, eying the new locale with a fair amount of confusion, skepticism and disbelief on her face. Her large-framed glasses slide down her nose.

That is when Saturn decides to come loose from its string, the spray-painted orange and brown foam ball bouncing to the ground and rolling off towards a table.

"Oo-kay. I'm pretty sure this ... isn't supposed to be here."

tiny!tag: jess day, danny williams, darius

[ooc: Aaaaand I'm off for the night! But h'omg this was the best. I'll be tagging all slowtimes and such tomorrow!]

scots_wolf

Urquhart reads books about everything that interests him, and he is interested in almost anything. And in MIlliways, you get books from everywhere about anything, even the few things Urquhart finds boring. This is the the candy-land of knowledge that the medieval Scottish murderer always longed for and dreamed of, in his long peregrinations. You don't get what you deserve, you merely get what you get -- and while many people that knew Urquhart briefly before their death would certainly agree he deserved to burn in hell, instead he got this.

There is a small fire burning right now -- in the round medium-sized barbecue which Urquhart has fired up outside, just beyond the kitchen garden. One of the things Urquhart is interested in is food, drink, baking, and cooking; and in one cook-book about the Mediterranean sea, Urquhart read about a kind of cheese you can fry or grill, from Cyprus. Which of course he had to try.

So, Urquhart has several pieces of halloumi, glazed with olive oil and spiked with twigs of rosemary, gently sizzling on the barbecue beside some slices of eggplant; he has a bowl of salad, a baguette or two, and a large bottle of crisp white wine from Greece.

He's sitting out in the sun, content and peaceful, with his dog by his feet and a glass in his hand. If you happen to walk by, Urquhart will be sure to offer you some food and a glass of wine, too.

And the dog is most likely to wag his tail in friendly welcome.

cruelcharisma

James had been in a brutal, close quarters combat fight with... well, who gave a fuck what the bloke's name was. He'd turned out to be part of Quantum, and things had gone south rather quickly. M would be none too pleased with him for offing the chap without interrogating him, yet when locked in combat, it was either Bond or him. And Bond was always going to choose himself.

They'd traded severe blows in the Madrid apartment, and the adrenaline coursing through Bond — which might as well have been a constant component of his blood, given how often he found himself in such situations — fueled his fury. The thug was a hunk of meat and muscle, standing at least half a foot taller than him, and at one point picked Bond up and tossed him through a closed sliding glass door, shattering it as Bond fell through to the other side.

James hastily grabbed a long, severe-looking shard of the glass door as he pulled himself to his feet to find himself... not in the apartment. It was a... bar? And it definitely wasn't in Madrid, by the decor. And the thug wasn't there either. Dropping the shard of glass, he put a hand to his side to nurse the pain of a kidney shot, arching his back to loosen up after being thrown through the glass door, and slowly walked towards a bar stool. He felt small little superficial cuts along his face and hands, yet worried more about figuring out where he was, and getting a stiff drink.

Yet there was no barkeep. What kind of bar was this? "What does it take to get a vodka martini around here?" Bond said gruffly. And yet one appeared in front of him. He eyed it carefully, as he'd had trick martinis before. Had he died in that fight? Well, he thought, picking up the glass, when in wherever-the-bloody-hell-I-am. Down the hatch.

chrysopteron

[OOM: Outside, yesterday: Kallisto.]

[tags: charles xavier]

[ooc: adult scenarios later on.]

justdidntseeit

[ oom: "Confiscate some evidence today?"

"Nope. I got that from Raylan."

" -- what?" ]

scarred_grin

[OOM: Having apparently run out of bridges to burn, Skaði goes to hell to dredge up some more misery, but at least Loki's a captive audience. It starts out confrontational, takes a disturbing sexual left turn somewhere in the middle (glossed over, but you probably don't want to think about it too much) and then finishes up depressing; so in other words, it's Norse. Also small warnings for passing references to infanticide and... uh, shapeshifting. Never invite these two to a party is what I'm saying ~~poor poor Sigyn~~]

oldjunglesaying

[From the Chronicles of the 21st Phantom: Pirates.]

[note: almost a direct canon quote; helpful background for future events.]

thenextround

A few cuts? A couple of bruises? An unknown place - of which is infested with very large rodents?

Gwaine has been in worst predicaments and places before.

Destiny can be a bit funny like that.

Besides. This place looks enough like a tavern and all taverns have mead, right?

So Gwaine - the man in a patchwork of leathers and linens with a sword strapped at his belt and who looks the sort in need of a drink - merely pushes a hand through his hair and limps his way to the counter.

He'll be having a few rounds.

waco_jim

Jim walks briskly into the door, eyes shut in the event that he ends up walking into the wall that was previously in front of him. He opens them slowly, one at a time, before smiling.

Satisifed, he pulls a cocktail sword up to his face and twirls it around a bit. "Well, looks like it worked."

He sits himself down at the bar.

"Mr. Brooks's message can wait, I think. Get me a bottle of scotch. The whole thing. God knows I need it."

balancingminds

Charles is tugging off his tie that goes with his elegant three piece suit as he enters the Bar, laughs and calls behind him, "Raven, Milliways is in my room. I'm going to get a drink before we head out!"

Then he walks through and tucks his tie into his pocket as he unbuttons his collar, he'll have time to change into something else before they go to the pubs.

When he reaches the counter, he grins as a note appears and he nods before shifting behind the counter and looking for some specials.

Happy Hour with Professor Xavier
Teacher's Pet
Cherry Champagne
Piece of Mind
If I can't figure out what drink you want then your drink's free.

Once the specials are up, he pours himself a glass of champagne and waits to see what Milliways will bring tonight.

Tiny tag: Charles Xavier, Jess Day, Gwaine
OOC: Charles is going to be actively listening to minds so please include thoughts in narration.
Open until I say its not, threadhop, enjoy and help Charles celebrate his degree.
Home after midnight and if you're interested in starting a new thread, ask me before tagging as this has been a great but busy Happy Hour.

gryphon_leaper

All the lands the sea washes, the saying goes, owe tribute to Minos. The ships of Crete keep pirates down, and ensure the safety of travelers and goods alike. More, any people who would make their tools of bronze rather than horn or bone or stone must rely on his good graces; should Minos stop the tin-ships, it would be disastrous for all. When Crete calls for tax and tribute, Crete receives what it demands. From some lands, some towns, it is nothing more than goods. From others- well, Minos has foreign levies from Africa, and slaves from anywhere they can be bought. But mostly when there is human tribute to be taken, it comes at a set time each year: so many youths, and so many maidens, to be taken safely to Knossos and dedicated to the Earth-Shaker there.

A Cretan ship that had been very long and very far from home arrived at the harbor at Amnisos this morning. It was a long time between that landing and reaching Knossos town, and the ceremonies and purifications in the House of the Ax did not make it any less long. Even seeing the bull-dancers brought in long ago practicing on the Bull of Daidalos did the new arrivals little good. All they have on their minds just now is the serving-trestle at the far end of the hall, where the food is being put out. There will be time to change out of blood-spattered clothing and into something else later. After the food.

Although, now that she has stepped through the door at the end of the hall, the girl in the quilted jacket and deerskin trousers looks rather as if she thinks someone's pulling some ill-conceived prank. Why, there's nobody here at all that she can so much as recognize.

Already she's beginning to hate the Labyrinth.

[Tinytag: Thalestris, Apollo, Palamedes.]